


A crumbling mask

by Sansastarklives



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:15:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansastarklives/pseuds/Sansastarklives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr leaves the Eyrie for a few days, leaving Alayne to think about her true identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A crumbling mask

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback please?

"Alayne," Petyr's husky voice called through the hall. "Come here, sweetling." Alayne turned away from the door and walked back to into the hall, towards her Father. "Alayne, I have business to attend to, which will take me from the Vale for a few days. Is there anything you need?" Alarmed thought for a moment, tugging on her dull brown hair as she did so. After a moment she shook her head, smiling. "Goodbye, I will see you in a few days." Alayne leaned down and kissed her Father's cheek.   
"Goodbye, Father." Alayne turned sharply and walked to her room. 

Alayne watched her Father leave, from her window. She sighed when his horse galloped out of sight. The next few days would be boring without her father's company. During their time at the Eyrie, Alayne and her father had become quite close. Every night they would sit in his solar, as he taught her the ways of the game. His lessons included: the throne's history, languages, information on their opponents, future plans and most importantly: controlling her emotions. Peter had taught Alayne how to control her face, to make it portray emotions that she was not feeling. Her lessons were the only thing that made life at the Eyrie bearable. While her father was away, she would have to find ways to fill her time. As Robin was sicker that usual, she was not allowed to visit him. Instead she would have to practice her needlework, and continue her education.   
For the next three days, Alayne rarely left the library. She read about the battles fought to win the Iron throne. About dragons, and the conditions they needed to live, and how they eventually died out. About different poisons and how their symptoms presented themselves. About counting money and keeping control of it.   
On the third day Alayne found a book on languages, and began to teach herself simple phrases. However the languages were hard to learn, when she did not know how to pronounce the words properly, so she soon gave up.   
Her head was spinning from all of the reading and random facts were swirling around her brain. She locked herself away in her room and practiced her needlework. Without someone guiding her, Alayne made mistakes, but the end result was always acceptable. Her father would have hated to see any mistakes at all, but Alayne liked the mistakes: they were what made her different from that other girl.   
As thoughts of the girl crept into her thoughts, she began to make a direwolf. However with the direwolf came painful memories of that girl's life, so Alayne threw it away. Instead she used her silver thread to create mockingbird: her sigil. She crafted the bird with a careful hand, taking her time.   
It was dark outside when she finished, and Alayne began to wonder when her father would return. She sat at the window and found herself gazing up at the stars littered against a black velvet sky. She wondered what lay beyond the stars. Maybe the spirits of the dead? A silly thought really, something that girl would have thought of. However she couldn't help but wonder. If the spirits were looking down on them, what did they see? Were her parents looking down on her? Were they happy? Or were they disappointed in her? Could they see that she was safe? Were her brothers watching her? Did they hate Petyr, or were they grateful that he had saved her?  
Alayne didn't realise that she was crying until the cold cause her tears to freeze on her cheeks. With a gentle brushing of her cheeks, his her face the tears. She couldn't think about them anymore: it was too painful. Alayne missed that girl, and how naive she used to be. She eyed the book lying under her bed, and decided that just for tonight, she would allow herself to be that naive girl again.   
Her blue eyes darted across the pages, taking in every word. Her fingers traced the brave knights, wishing that they were so kind in real life. Instead knights were cruel, and only did things for their own gain. No, knights did not save the girl like they did in the stories. Instead it was quite different men who did the saving. Men like Petyr were the real knights, they just didn't wear amour. Instead they saved the girl from the cruel villains.   
Alayne laughed out loud. The thought had been childish and immature: something that that girl would have thought. Say her name, Alayne thought. Just say it. Her ocean eyes did not move from the wrinkled pages, as she whispered to herself "Sansa." The name sounded strange on her tongue. It didn't fit. She was no longer that girl. That girl was naive and couldn't survive the game. Alayne was strong. Alayne would not be foolish. Alayne would win. Alayne knew that life was no story in a book. Life was no song. Her father's words rang in her ears: the words he always whispered to her when he thought she was returning to that immature chess piece.   
Alayne glared at the book in her hands, she wanted more than nothing to throw it out of the window or burn it in the fire. But she couldn't. She had to keep something to remind her of who she really was: no matter how much she wanted to forget. Instead her fingers followed the curly, white writing which covered the front of the powder blue book.   
"I thought you'd grown out of such childish nonsense." Her fathers husky voice echoed from the doorway. She hadn't even heard him enter the room. Alayne jumped, dropping the book on the floor as she did so.   
"Father, I-I. . . You frightened me." She gasped, clutching her chest, where her heart pounded furiously against her chest.   
"My apologises." He gestured towards the book, and Alayne swooped it up in one elegant motion.   
"Oh, I was just-" What had she been doing? Why was she reading the book? "I was just reminding myself." She let the silence fill the air, not wanting to elaborate. Petyr seemed to understand. It was as though he could read her thoughts, and Alayne often wondered whether he could. "I didn't expect you back just yet."  
"I wanted to surprise you, sweetling. From your face, it looks as though I succeeded." A grin spread across his thin lips, and he moved further into her chambers. "I bought you something while I away."   
Petyr pulled a pile of items from behind his back, as though they had appeared from thin air. He laid them on the table before her, watching her face with a smile. Blue fabrics lay before her in a variety of shades. Alayne stroked them gently, knowing that they were far too good for a bastard, but then again so was everything in her life. She carefully lifted one and brushed it against her cheeks, the fabric cool on her pale skin.   
"It brings out your eyes, sweetling." Her cheeks blushed a deep red and she lay the clothes back on her table. She moved towards the pile of books.   
"I've been reading while you were away," She mumbled, reading their covers. "It'll be nice to read something new." She smiled and turned to the last item on the table. It was a silver chain, with a small mockingbird hanging from him. Petyr picked it up and gestured for Alayne to turn. After putting the necklace on her, he admired it from arms length.   
"Thank you so much for these gifts, Father. They are beautiful." Her voice seemed to sing with joy. He nodded his head and lifted one hand towards her dull curls.   
"I hate this colour," he whispered. His eyes were glazed and Alayne wondered whether he knew that he was speaking aloud. Suddenly something snapped in his eyes and he moved away from her. "Your hair is changing colour again, I think it's time we dyed it." He wondered into her wash room, pouring water into a basin, waiting for her to follow.   
Alayne changed out of her expensive dress into a plain, old one. Petyr poured the brown, sticky mixture into her hair and began to massage it carefully.   
"Did you miss me, sweetling?" He murmured, his fingers rubbing the cold liquid into her scalp.   
"Of course, Father. I missed you as much as any daughter would." It was a good answer: simple and polite. But Petyr sighed, stopping for a moment. His hands began to move again when he spoke.  
"I'm glad that Alayne missed me," her eyes narrowed, unsure what he meant. "Did YOU miss me, Sansa?" The name caused her to gasp loudly, her mouth hanging open. She couldn't remember the last time he had called her by that name. He had taken that name the day he first called her Alayne. "Did I hurt you?" Petyr whispered, his hands softening as he spoke.   
"No, of course not. I'm sorry. I just- Yes. Yes, I missed you." She didn't have to see his face to now that he was smiling. He tapped her on the shoulder and turned her around, so that she bent over the basin backwards. The position hurt her back, but she wouldn't complain. At least she could see Petyr like this.   
"Good. How did you spend your time?"  
"Well, I read and I practiced my needlework. Actually I made you something." When Petyr was finished dying her hair, she brought him the mockingbird. "It was going to be a direwolf at first, but I thought that a mockingbird would be more suitable." Petyr inspected the craft carefully, until he finally smiled.   
"You have a talent, Sansa. Thank you." He pocketed the gift and turned towards her, deep in thought. "Why didn't you make a direwolf? It is a beautiful creature." Sansa thought for a moment, Petyr watching her every move. "Sansa?"  
"Honestly?" He nodded. "It was too painful." His grey green eyes narrowed and he sat on her bed, pulling her down beside him.  
"Go on."  
"Oh, I don't know. I try not to think about my old life, because I'm Alayne now."  
"Yes, but you should always remember who you are. You should keep something to remind you of your true self, like your book of lies. One day you will be Sansa Stark again and it will be harder for you, if you pretend now that she did not exist, sweetling."  
"But it just so hard. I don't want to remember. I don't want to be Sansa. Sansa had to. . . I had to watch my father die. I had to marry a man whose family destroyed mine. My mother and brother were brutally murdered by that same family. That family who held me hostage. My two younger brothers were killed. Killed by a man who we welcomed into our home! Even Jon Snow is lost beyond the wall. And my sister. Oh, my young, stupid, annoying, beautiful, strong sister is missing. My home is gone. And the only way that I can survive is pretend to be a bastard. And not just any bastard! I am a bastard to the man who was in love with my real mother. You want me to remember that? You think I need reminding of that pain? You think that I'm not haunted by the dead souls of my family? You think I don't see their faces every night when I sleep. You think I don't know who I am?" Tears were streaming down her pale cheeks and she was screaming her words, but Petyr did not react.   
Exhausted, she collapsed. Petyr caught her and held her against his chest. He stroked her hair and murmured sounds which had no meaning, but were soothing to hear. She didn't need to look in his eyes to know that he was disappointed. Her mask had crumbled away, and she had forgotten every thing that she ha been taught. However Petyr did not shout, did not get angry. Instead he hugged her tightly.   
Sansa wanted to keep speaking, but couldn't find the strength. Instead she just thought to herself: "I am Sansa Stark. I can be brave." She repeated the thought over and over until she had stopped crying.   
Petyr moved back, so that he could see her face. After a moment Sansa realised what had just happened. "I am so sorry, my lord. I don't know what came over me. I just-"  
"It's fine," he said, interrupting her. "Just don't let it happen again." When he smiled, Sansa relaxed. "You remind me of Cat, when you cry." He whispered. His face was now inches from hers. He leaned in and claimed her lips. His tongue gently parted her lips, sliding into her mouth. His kiss was passionate, and sudden. His arms wrapped around her back an pulled her towards him. Sansa returned the kiss, her tongue mirroring his. Then he pulled away, abruptly.   
"Goodnight, Sansa." He said, before leaving her chambers. She laid back, dazed and exhausted. As she closed her eyes, she thought about how she would never let her mask crumble like that again. She would never let herself be that vulnerable again. She was a Stark. She could be brave.


End file.
